


A Cursed Mistake

by TheAwkwardLadyJay



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, If you wanna see it that way - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Violence, but could be romantic, no happy ending, sadness and death, this is just sadness ya'll, this is mainly platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 21:18:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwkwardLadyJay/pseuds/TheAwkwardLadyJay
Summary: The house's curse hated Wilford. Dark didn't. Turns out the curse was more powerful.





	A Cursed Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write angst often and I usually don't post what little angst I do write but there's something about this story that I really like. Honestly couldn't tell you what but I just really wanted to post it, despite it being an emotionally driven mess.
> 
> Hopefully, you guys enjoy the angstfest

He could remember the last time he felt something. It was a good memory, one of his more vivid ones. It had happened just a few weeks after he had formed, when the mayor and Celine were still trying to gain dominance over the evil entity that eventually had consumed them and settled as Dark’s aura.

Wilford had been there. It was the first time the mayor and Celine had seen their darling colonel since that fateful night in the mansion. Damien was devastated at the sight of him. Of course, he was. Here was his childhood friend, sporting a bright pink mustache and a mad glint in his eye.

Celine was much calmer about the encounter. She was the realistic sibling, after all. She had already figured out that there was no way the colonel was still sane after those events. Not when he had already lost so much of his sanity.

Dark found it endlessly amusing. He had seen glimpses of Wil here and there, random murders that were a little too connected to be separate killers. A flash of pink out of the corner of his eye whenever he passed a roaming journalist.

He had known about Wilford’s existence for long enough to realize that the cursed part of him, the part of him that had been nestled in that house for decades consuming the taint that Mark’s experiments had left behind, hated Wil. It writhed around him whenever he got close. Even several streets away were to close for the curse. It wanted nothing to do with Wil and Dark was pretty sure he knew why.

It was hard to face someone you had practically grown up with when you had turned into a monster.

That first time Dark met Wilford face-to-face, the curse had twisted and jerked. It warped itself into the tightest of knots and then untied itself with an explosive flourish. It threw a tantrum that would end all tantrums.

Eventually, Dark decided enough was enough. He could feel Damien and Celine crying out to hold their dear friend one last time, even if it wasn’t quite their friend. So he forced the curse down, shoving it into the deepest corners of himself where it would have to claw its way back out to see the light of day.

That day, he realized that he could control the curse. Since he was created, he had avoided it. It was a powerful, angry creature and Dark had been sure he wouldn’t be able to control it. And yet here he was, with the curse safely tucked away, shaking hands with the only man it hated more than Mark himself. 

What a good day that had been. If only it could have lasted. 

Now, Dark stood in front of Wil’s room. The curse writhed around him excitedly. It twisted through his hair, dancing across his skin, smoothing out his suit. When he continued to simply stand there, a rough nudge at his back reminded him why he was here. He growled and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. 

The curse nudged him again, more incessantly this time. It wanted this to be over with just as much Dark. 

With a heavy sigh, Dark rapped on the door, placing his hands behind his back and waited.

Wilford didn’t keep him waiting long. He swung the door open, wide grin in place, and opened his mouth to welcome Dark. He was barely able to get the first syllable out when a knife slashed across his throat. He looked down at the blood covered weapon, eyes wide. Then back up to Dark, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Time seemed to slow down. Dark watched, horridly transfixed, as his best friend teetered backward. It only took a second for Wil’s body to hit the ground but to Dark, it felt like an eternity. When his back finally hit the floor, the dull thud resounded through the halls.

The curse wiggled around Dark happily, coiling up his arms and patting his shoulders. One brave tendril wrapped around his wrist and slowly guided him towards his friend’s bleeding body. He knelt over Wil, the complete numbness he had grown accustomed to filling his chest. 

The emptiness almost hurt.

Wil looked up at him, his eyes still wide, betrayal and fear clear in the brown irises. He reached up one trembling hand but it never made it to its target, falling back onto Wilford’s spasming chest.

The tendril wrapped around Dark’s wrist lifted his arm up, the knife still dripping blood. What a sight he must have been, the curse spread out behind him like broken wings and the knife raised high in the air. If he could speak, Wilford might have called him the angel of death. 

Wilford gasped for air, his mouth moving around silent words. His eyes were frantic, pleading. The wound in his neck continued to bleed but the flow had almost stopped. If Dark acted now, he still might be able to help his friend. 

With a start, he realized what that meant. Wilford wasn’t dead. His neck wound wasn’t fatal. He could still live. All Dark had to do was drop the knife. His hand flexed, fingers beginning to unfurl and arm beginning to relax from its raised position.

The knife pierced flesh.

Wilford let out a strange noise, something between a yelp and a gasp. Dark thought it sounded exactly like what death felt like. The knife protruded from Wil’s chest, blood leaking from his slightly parted lips. Wil looked up at him and met his eyes, the lights already beginning to go out. 

Dark looked back at him, searching those eyes for any sign of anger or resentment. But all he found was regret and pity. 

One last breath left Wil’s chest and he went completely limp, his eyes falling shut and his final words resting on his bloodied lips.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt nothing. There were only bad memories, now. Thoughts that filled his chest with the ache of sadness and the burn of regret. Lifeless eyes and bloodied lips haunted his nightmares. The curse battered against his barriers daily. He knew, that if given the chance, it would break free from him and wreak havoc on those that deserved it. But Dark had seen the chaos the curse created. He was not going to give it that chance.

He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on my tumblr, theawkwardladyjay, or scream at me on here. I promise I'll scream back


End file.
